I catch her before she hits the ground. Her small frame is surprisingly heavy against me, the weight of her body threatening to drag us both down.
Shit.
Amelia struggles against Julien’s grip. “Dakota!”
His eyes lock with mine over my sister’s head.
“Cameron!” I grip Rosa tighter, my wedding dress tangling around my legs as I struggle to keep us upright. “Julien, get my sister out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”
His jaw works like he’s grinding his teeth to dust. “I don’t take orders from?—”
“This isn’t about whatever fucked-up history our families have.” My voice comes out sharper than I intended. “You care about her, right? So take her and go. Cameron and I handle your grandmother.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, at hearing perfect, polite Dakota Levine say ‘fucked-up.’ Or maybe it’s the raw desperation in my voice.
Julien makes a sound like a curse cut short. “You’d better stay alive.” He practically lifts Amelia off her feet, carrying her toward the back exit.
“Abuela!” Cameron grabs his grandmother, hauling her into his arms just as a body slams into me.
I stumble, catching myself on the edge of the altar.
Rosa resists her grandson, her eyes finding mine. “We can’t leave her!”
“Sienna?” Cameron’s head whips around, scanning the churning crowd. “Where’s?—”
“Not her!” Rosa tries to wrench free, pointing at me. “Dakota!”
“Cam!” Sienna’s trapped on the other side of the central aisle, fighting against the flow of panicked guests. “Get your grandmother out! I’ll find my way!”
“Sienna!” Desperation floods his face.
Sienna shoves a man blocking her path. “I’ll meet you at the back!”
Cameron hesitates, torn between the woman he loves and his grandmother, before shouldering through the crowd toward where Julien disappeared.
Rosa stretches her arm back toward me, fingers grasping at air. “Mija!”
I try to follow, but hands seize my shoulders from behind. The reverend spins me around, directly into the path of a bloody man who’s finished with his previous victim and lurches toward fresh prey.
Me.
“Take her!” the reverend screams. “Please take her!”
What? I stare at him in disbelief. A man of God throwing me to the wolves to save his own skin?
I try to twist away, the reverend’s fingers digging into my shoulders as he tries to keep me between himself and death.
Its eyes meet mine. Mr. Henderson, my mother’s tennis partner’s husband, lunges at me, his mouth slick with blood, eyes vacant yet hungry.
“Get off me!” I slam my elbow back into the reverend’s ribs.
He grunts, grip loosening just enough for me to break free. I dodge sideways, and the thing stumbles past me straight toward the reverend.
“No! Please!” The reverend scrambles backward. “Take her!”
The thing pivots and lurches back toward me, its movements jerky but fast. Blood drips from its chin, spattering the floor between us.
Shit.
